All That Mattered
by FusseKat
Summary: What if Eames and Goren had reacted differently to each other after "Purgatory"? Not intended to be 'shippy' but I guess it could 'set sail' if you choose. All rights belong to others - no harm intended


**All That Mattered**

Alex's POV….

Alex crumpled to her knees as soon as she closed her front door behind her. Suddenly felt the impact of the events of the last several hours come crashing down on her. The rush of adrenaline she had been running on since breaking in on Bobby and finding him with gun drawn and pointing at her. She was suddenly and completely exhausted. She rolled her head around her stiffening shoulders as the last bit of strength she had, drained from her body. The wall of self-protection that she had erected to protect her, to block what had happened – the images of the stand off; guns drawn and pointed at each other, shock, fear, disbelief – crumbled to dust.

As realization rocked her, she dragged herself over to the sofa and crawled up onto it as she concentrated on her physical reactions. Her hands shook, and she breathed deeply, listening to the air fill and escape her lungs; listening to the steady beating of her heart. Despite her resolve, tears overwhelmed her and slowly streaked down her face, and her eyes closed.

Hours later, her phone rang. It was Bobby. "I'm outside, in the driveway. Is it all right if I come up?" She didn't respond and she hung up the phone. Slowly she reached up and turned on the lamp beside the sofa.

She was oblivious to the sinking in of the sofa as Bobby gently sat down next to her, a wet towel in hand. She was lost in her thoughts and still didn't realize Bobby was next to her until his fingers touched her chin, gently turning her face towards him. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him, startled.

She was relieved to see that the look of frustration and anger had so long plagued him seemed to have vanished from his eyes. She had learned long ago with Bobby that it wasn't that easy though. Over the years, she had come to realize that those emotions had not vanished. The red-hot rage that demanded vengeance had been pushed down, held down and in place through sheer determination. To resurface later in a cold white-hot need for justice. Those brown eyes were now filled with something she could not name, but which made her uneasy and self-conscious. After holding his gaze for a second longer, she lowered her eyes.

The cool wetness of the cloth soothed the hotness of her face. She was silent as Bobby gently drew the cloth around to the back of her neck, gently lifting her hair away. She concentrated again on the rhythm of her heart, which was now quickening; and her breathing, now shuttering and uneven; but it was not enough to reassure her.

Subconsciously, she brought her hand up to Bobby's, halting his ministering to her. Her fingers wound around his, lowering them. Her eyes fastened on them; flesh upon flesh. Slowly she raised her eyes to gaze up at Bobby's face. His own eyes were studying her, worry lines etched into his forehead. She leaned against him, her hands moving up his arms, her head coming to rest on his chest. Gently he leaned back until the arm of the sofa supported his back. He rested one of his hands across her shoulders, the other still tightly held in her hand.

Hesitantly and struggling to find the words, he began, "Eames, I couldn't … It was the only way…"

"… for you to get back." She felt him nod. She drew a haggard breath. Hearing Bobby's heart, feeling his arms around her, she felt a sense of sanctuary come over her. He was safe. He was alive. They were back together - partners. That's all that mattered.

Bobby's POV…..

Bobby continued to splash cold water on his face, shocking his system, jumpstarting his breathing. He had just about run out of time when the surveillance team finally burst into the room. _What took them so long?_ He _knew_ a team had to be there. It was so obviously a set up Testarosa - he'd run the same type of sting when he worked Narcotics. He stalled as long as he could; trying to give them time, the time they needed to get in, to take them – him - down. He asked himself, _if the surveillance team hadn't burst into the room when they did, how far would I have gone? How far was I prepared to go to get my shield back? Would I have survived taking on Testarosa and Stoat?_

As the door had burst in, he instinctively turned and raised his gun. He did not expect Eames to come busting in the door. It seemed to him now that they must have stood staring at each other for hours before he slowly loosened his grip on his gun and allowed it to swing down and drop to the floor. Keeping his eyes averted from Eames, he slowly he raised both hands to place them behind his head and as slowly dropped to his knees as one of the other detectives roughly grabbed his wrists and slapped cuffs onto them.

As he was walked past Eames, he could feel the waves of emotion rolling off her. Softly, so softly he doubted she could hear, he said, "Eames…" In his head, it felt as if he shouted. He sensed her shaking her head, as he was lead out of the room.

Hours later, he pulled up in front of her darkened house. Seeing her car in the drive, he dialed her cell. When she answered, sounding weak and defeated, he said, "I'm outside, in the driveway. Is it all right if I come up?"

She didn't respond and hung up on him. Gazing up at the house, he saw a light blaze on in the living room. Slowly he walked up the steps to her door, and using the key she had given him years ago, he unlocked the door and let himself in. Quietly, he crossed the entryway to see Eames sitting on the sofa, head bowed. Detouring into the guest bath, he pulled a rolled up washcloth from the basket by the sink. Wetting and wringing it out, he left to join Eames on the sofa.

Gently sitting down beside her, he waited for her to acknowledge him. After several minutes he reached for her chin and gently turned her face to him. Staring into her eyes, he sensed her turmoil. Anger, fear and shock all warring within her. And knew he was responsible. Swallowing hard, he placed the wet cool cloth on her cheek and swiped it around to the back of her neck. As she did, he heard her soft sigh and felt her breath tremble from her.

As she pulled back to look up at him, he saw acceptance in her eyes. She reached out for him and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. Involuntarily his arms came around her to offer her the physical comfort and support she had always offered him emotionally.

Hesitantly and struggling to find the words, he began, "Eames, I couldn't … It was the only way…"

"… for you to get back." She felt him nod.

As he released the breath he did not remember holding, he was reminded of a phrase he'd once used to describe their partnership, "complimentary skills". They had always been able to help each other through whatever came their way. Now he believed they would be able to help each other through this. She was safe. She was alive. They were back together - partners. That's all that mattered.


End file.
